


5201314 (Burning Red)

by lupoxic



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: (cause i feel like it fits the vibe yknow), Death Note - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, but not au this is nothing like death note lol, but really everyone except wonhan are minor, i tried to be dark but idk how dark this really is, implied attempt at sexual assault, jeonghan's parents are mentioned, junhui is mentioned as well, lots of deaths, lowercase is intentional, maybe a little metaphorical, mingyu gets mentioned a bit more than the others, minus the book and the shinigami, not too descriptive, some descriptions of said deaths are detailed, yandere!wonwoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 14:23:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16599581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupoxic/pseuds/lupoxic
Summary: he doesn’t notice that the spark blossoms like a bud in spring. it grows, pollinating its seeds and populating the field with its bright red petals until it turns warm, so warm that it becomes hot, and then it’s burning.





	5201314 (Burning Red)

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello!! the wonhan tag is very dry!! someone feed us wonhan shippers please we are STARVING :(
> 
> anywho i got a prompt for a festive halloween challenge back in october so i hope this gives you an idea of the direction we're heading in! (no trick or treating kids sorry)
> 
> this was... a huge struggle. because i wanted to make this dark but the prompt could so easily be crack.
> 
> ENJOY and i hope you won't be disturbed :( i'm not that good at writing gore/deaths in general but one of them really unsettled me just thinking about it hhhhh

“yoon” 

                                                                                 _step._

                                 “jeong”

_step._

                                                                   “han”

                                         _stop._

i smirk, satisfied at how riled up he becomes from his name merely rolling off my tongue. his body is hunched over, hands tied to the back of the crooked wooden chair, the material so weak that it barely supports him. if he weighed any more than his slim frame suggests, the furniture definitely wouldn’t have been able to support him. 

“what do you want,” he snarls through his clenched teeth, the pink of his lips that line them losing their natural tint after being held captive for the third day. the golden glow of his skin is also gone, receding into a dull grey from the lack of exposure to the sun. a glance at the surroundings provides a sufficient reason why — the windows of the drafty abandoned factory we’re currently in have been boarded up with badly nailed on floorboards, and the miniscule fractals of light that peep through the seams aren’t nearly enough to help his skin sustain a healthy colour. 

_pretty_ , i mouth. even though this is the worst state jeonghan has been in in a while, i still find him so pretty.

instead of answering his question, i reach for the chair across him, fingers curling around the headboard. i spin it around roughly, grin at the screech it creates, at the grimace jeonghan makes and sit on it backwards, crossing my arms across the backboard and nestling my head atop them comfortably.

i’m finally eye to eye with jeonghan again. 

_he’s so pretty._

“st-stop smiling like that. tell me what you want,” he sputters, fidgeting uneasily. his ankles are bound to each side of the chair’s front legs, so all he can do is squirm and shy his face away from my gaze, his face scrunched up in discomfort. 

i sigh softly. this is going to be a process.

“have you noticed anything… weird happening around you lately? or for the past year, give or take.”

he meets my stare again, brows furrowing in confusion.

“and...where is this coming from….?”

i shrug, careful to keep my face flat.

“just curious.”

jeonghan stays silent, eyeing me, cautious. his dirty blonde bangs fall into his eyes, the volume of his hair gone after not having a proper wash for so long. a thin coat of grease covers his roots, along with the apples of his face and bridge of his nose. 

all that, and he still manages to look so flawlessly pretty in my eyes. it’s almost as if he’s an actual beautiful angel, fallen down from heaven — specially just for me.

he gives up quickly once he understands that i’m only interested in the questions i ask; none of his. he must not be able to stand how quiet this place is, its serenity only being broken every now and then by the sounds of water droplets plummeting from the leaking pipes, straight down to the floor where moisture meets and puddles form. 

“not particularly, no.” he thinks about it, then looks directly into my russet eyes with those doe chocolate orbs of his, squinting in suspicion. 

“why?”

_interesting._ my lips curl up in amusement, and that seems to unsettle him further.

_fascinating._

“let’s play a little game.” 

i get up and walk off to the side. the size of the building resembles a rundown barn house, the entire floor vacant aside from the mouldy boxes shoved against the walls of the place. there’s a staircase that leads up to a small metal platform and a door, whereupon opening will lead to a small ledge that’s about 12 metres above the ground and only offers the scenery of the wasteland outside. 

i move towards the boxes stored underneath the staircase and reach behind them, retrieving a small notebook from the crack between the boxes and the wall. i dust the cover off until the white, messily scrawled on words stare back at me, the plain colour so blinding and daunting that people who see it for the first time might have to look away.

_**death note.** _

steps agonisingly slow, i trudge back to the spot at the centre of the floor and rotate the chair, plopping down on it afterwards in order to face jeonghan properly. 

i note how his eyes narrow at the front cover of the notebook. he doesn’t say anything, waits for my next move. i flip to the first page.

“let me explain how this little game works. you see this book?” i show him the two words scrawled on the cover. “pretty self-explanatory. but here’s the fun part:

if you can connect the dots to all these deaths, i will grant you your freedom.” 

jeonghan responds to the last word like it’s a reflex. i can see it in the way his entire body moves slightly as if that word alone is enough to stimulate the desperation in him.

“and if i don’t want to play?” he dares to ask, albeit unsurely.

i break eye contact and flip to the next page.

“august 14, 2013,” i read. my eyes flicker up to meet jeonghan’s. “ring any bells?”

involuntarily, my pupils drop to his lips when he pouts in thought. the glossy coat they adorn when jeonghan licks them transfixes me, even though it’s such a simple act, nothing more than a poor attempt in moisturising the severely chapped surface. attempting to tear my gaze away is as hard as i remember it being. 

“no,” he says with a shake of his head, blonde strands stirring from the movement. “that was almost a year ago. you need to be more specific because i have no idea what you want me to remember.”

“in that case, i hope you like stories, jeonghan.” smiling, i lift the book up and wave it in the air. “there might be a chance you’ll have to listen to quite a handful of them for you to remember what happened each time, so get comfy.”

jeonghan snorts and leans back into the chair, arching an eyebrow. “oh sure, that won’t be a problem. it’s not like my hands are duct taped behind my back and my legs shackled to this old rickety chair. i’m _totally_ comfortable here.”

“just be good and i’ll consider making you more comfortable, okay?” we’re only about a metre apart, but i lean forward in my seat anyway, to get a better look at the pretty face in front of me. 

“even if you don’t win the game, i promise tonight will be the last night you spend here so just be a good boy for a while longer, hm?”

jeonghan regards me sceptically, his face guarded and his lips pressed into a thin line. from the corner of his eye, he peeks at the lights filtering in through the wooden boards and hums, as if trying to gauge how much longer ‘today’ will be.

“fine.” he doesn’t sound convinced at all, but his body language denotes the exact opposite: relaxed sitting posture, smooth expression, no tension between his brows. 

“well?” he prompts, head cocking backwards to motion at the book. “‘today’ isn’t going to last forever, so you’d better get to it.”

his tone is snarky, impatient. there’s no warmth behind it at all. yet it sounds so casual, reminds me so much of how he usually is with his friends that it takes a great deal out of me to repress the acceleration of my heart rate, takes all the centuries of self-control i’ve practised to recoil the jitters and the fond smile that demands to be released. 

_no. i don’t want to confuse him any further. things should be kept simple between us — today truly is our last, after all._

i clear my throat and find where i left off from the book. it’s the very first thing i wrote on the pages of this cursed book, my very first kill — though not my introductory taste of blood, technically. it felt weird at first, using such an instrument to execute such sinister actions. it’s passive, and as much as i like that aspect of it, it’s definitely something i took time getting used to.

“once upon a time…”

“you must be joking.” jeonghan cracks a half smile, but catches himself quickly and pulls it back down into a frown. 

cute. i chuckle and shake my head, leaning against the back of the chair. 

“don’t worry, this won’t end the way all fairy tale stories do.”

it’s a lot darker than any of them — unless it’s the grimm brothers’ version we’re talking about, that is. 

that’s pretty comparable to the stories i’m about to narrate.

_august of 2013. it was a rainy summer that year._

“you were still working for that fashion company then, yeah? e-kim-men?”

“yes, i-” i hold back a laugh as jeonghan stiffens, pausing mid-answer. he sits straighter, attempts to look less startled by puffing his chest, but the tremor in his pupils and voice give him away.

“h-how did you know?”

i shrug and look back down at the lined pages of the notebook, very pleased with his reaction. he looks like a pretty deer caught in headlights. _so cute._

“i just do.”

_yoon jeonghan was working for a relatively new corporation: e-kim-men, a pioneer men’s wear fashion line that was slowly garnering popularity, especially in south-east asia._

_he was sent to work at their headquarters, as the secretary of the ceo no less. young, successful and handsome, the head of e-kim-men was the ideal man everyone wanted to be with._

“kim mingyu, remember him?”

“president kim? of course i do.” jeonghan’s eyes round into the perfect almonds i know them to be. “why?”

i spare jeonghan a faint, humourless smile. 

“good, because this story is about him.”

_i_ hated _kim mingyu._

_it was everything from his immaculate hair to his naturally charming nature to the olive skin and canines that gave him a snide of boyish charm to his demeaning height and to the way every shirt and blazer he put on would fit just right. it was in the ways he was so perfect in every place that i sought for flaws that angered me to no end._

_but the thing that i despised the most was the throne of lies he arrogantly sat on._

_kim mingyu might have thought himself slick, but i never missed any of the stares he gave that lasted longer than necessary, lingering at places where they shouldn’t. i caught every calculated hand gesture that might have seemed like an accidental brush but was, in reality, a planned move by the purposeful drop of a document, a pen. i noticed mingyu’s sudden lack of comprehension towards personal space whenever he asked to speak with his secretary, alone, behind closed doors. i counted all the 52 times mingyu’s lustful eyes wandered to areas where one should be ashamed of staring - especially out in the open - exactly like a predator salivating over its new prey._

_but most importantly: i overheard that one phone call mingyu made to arrange the date, gathering at least 13 other members of his group with him, demanding them to procure the small white tablet that would send his dear little assistant off the edge, long enough for them to do however they pleased, until they disposed of him in a place where no cops could find the body._

_i couldn’t stay idle any longer. i’d been angered enough during the times i caught that vile corporation head breaching professional protocol with jeonghan, and that was only through the lenses of security cameras that i’d carefully tampered with, all done in order to keep an eye on jeonghan’s surroundings. i always knew that jeonghan had a tendency of inviting misfortune wherever he went, but i never expected it to get this severe this quick, so i spent no time in disposing of the little bugger once a line had been crossed and i could no longer feel remorse or guilt for what i was about to do._

“say, what was the reason you switched jobs, even though it took you a little over a year to get to such a high paying position?” 

jeonghan shoots me a dirty glare, his face twisted in utter disgust. 

“i know that you know. if you knew all those things about me, there’s no way you wouldn’t know about what happened to president kim. it was in the headlines for weeks, everyone knew about it.” his eyes harden further, and i see him try to curl in on himself, a defensive response to protect himself. 

cute. he reminds me of a little white bunny, shivering in the corner, trepidation coursing through his veins, weaving themselves past the erythrocytes and leukocytes and embedding itself deep within his heart, firmly latched and unmoving. 

and no matter what he does, it’ll be futile - the fear will remain until that organ of his stops functioning. he just doesn’t know it yet.

“smart _and_ pretty,” i muse, nodding in approval. also hard-headed, really, but i find that cute. jeonghan is _cute_.

_august 14th, 2013:_

_at eleven thirty p.m., there will be a blackout at e-kim-men corporations. kim mingyu will be the only man in the office at the time. when he gets his car from the car park, the engines of the remaining cars will rev, and their headlights will turn on. he is surrounded by the cars, all of which belong to the gangs he’s done illegal trading with, all of them drunk and betting on whoever can run mingyu over first._

_winner gets to keep whatever wealth mingyu possesses at the time._

_one of their lackeys will hit the emergency button, and that will lead to a complete lockdown that cannot be undone by anyone from the outside unless it is an employee who knows the passcode to unlock it._

_the game begins at midnight sharp. one of the cars has a leaking oil tank. at twelve fifteen a.m., one of the lackeys smoking will drop their cigarette into the trail of oil. the cars will explode in succession, and the building structure will start to crumble from the force._

_kim mingyu’s empire will fall, himself scattered in several pieces then reduced to nothing but ashes and smithereens._

“there was a fire that burned the whole building down. mingyu was, unfortunately, caught in it, along with some thugs who the police assumed were there to assault him. most of them didn’t make it out alive but those that did were all captured and sent to prison for all the crimes they’d committed for the past months.” i look up from the book and examine jeonghan’s expression.

“that’s the version you and the public heard, wasn’t it?” 

the blonde looks rattled. i watch him pull his gaze away from my piercing stare, watch as his lips fumble to form coherent words. 

“t-that’s absurd,” i hear him say. his voice is so quiet and shaky that it doesn’t sound like he believes himself. “that’s so- ridiculous, it literally sounds like a bad creepypasta plotline.” he forces a laugh, doesn’t get past three syllables.

“you don’t really expect me to believe that, do you?”

humming lightly, i flip over to the next page and scan the contents. thankfully, it’s a lot more toned down, since i no longer tested the limits of the death note, not after the mess of the first kill.

ignoring his question, i read the title from the second page of the book. 

“december 3rd, last year.” the name registers in my mind, and i look up to meet jeonghan’s eyes, an unreadable expression in those chocolate universes of his. 

“you know this date very well, don’t you?”

jeonghan scowls, but there’s no heat to it this time. there’s no disdain or discomfort. 

it’s just sad.

“can we… not-”

“he finally flatlined, huh?”

“asshole.”

“and your mom-”

“i said stop!”

i don’t actually stop because he tells me to. i don’t stop because he raised his voice, despite how hoarse and scratchy it is from the dehydration.

i only stop because his voice breaks at the very end, just as his own mask does, and he comes apart at the seams. the tough act is long gone, there are tears dripping from his glossy eyes and the sniffles he tries and fails to repress gradually breaks my heart, one crack at a time.

_ september 5th, 2013:  _

_yoon kiwoon’s chemotherapy will start to lose its effect._

_october 20th, 2013: the tumour in yoon kiwoon’s stomach will grow._

_november 1st, 2013: yoon kiwoon’s cancer will advance to the last stage._

_december 3rd, 2013: yoon kiwoon will succumb to his stomach cancer. park mina will get into a car accident on her way to the hospital. it will be a four-way car collision in the intersection. she will die on the spot._

the second page is startlingly different; not just from the first page, but from every other page. it’s short and concise, with the least amount of gory descriptions. 

yet out of all the deaths i’ve had to orchestrate, this was the most painful to write, and it’s still the most painful one to read.

_unlike mingyu, jeonghan’s parents were actually lovely. they were always so good to him, and they loved him so much. jeonghan was always the happiest whenever he could return back to them for the holidays, escape the nitty-gritty of the city and wind down in the countryside with the people he loved most._

_but i didn’t have a choice. i had to cut their lifelines short. i had to be the one to do it. if not me, then two months after that, the aged wood of the hallways in their humble abode would be covered in a pool of crimson, the liquid still thick and warm when jeonghan would return to them later that night after a visit to the convenience store, the sight of red, red, **red** engraved into his mind so vividly that he would have nightmares for months, maybe even years, the guilt pulling him closer and closer down under each day, until he would admit defeat and allow darkness to consume him._

_that wasn’t something i could stop. so i could only do what i could, and intervene midway. i made sure to make it as natural as possible, but that still didn’t make him hurt any less. what it did do though, was keep him saner. at least long enough until i could pick him up._

returning from the unpleasant memory trip, i tear my eyes away from my own handwriting to see clear crystal spheres falling from the lashes of the pretty boy in front of me. his cries are silent, and that’s how i know how much he’s hurting, how much it pains him to have to even think about such a tragedy.

i can’t stand the sight. 

quietly, i get up from my seat, the death note momentarily abandoned on my seat. i cross the five measly steps that set the ravine between us. jeonghan has kept his head down the entire time, eyes squeezed shut as the droplets continue to freefall.

gingerly, i lift my hand up and ghost my fingers across his cheek, brushing off a stray tear or two.

he snaps his head up almost immediately. his eyes are wide and crazed, and our faces are so close that i can count every red line in those tired eyes of his.

“ _ **don’t. touch. me**_ ,” he warns. he says it so deathly quietly, so fragile yet with so much command and power underlying in them, that i have to pull my hand back to my side and straighten myself.

he’s a feisty one, i forget. pretty, but very feisty. just like fire. of course he wouldn’t let his guard down even in his most vulnerable state.

“i-is that… all you wanted to say? can i j-just... leave? _now?_ ” jeonghan pleads between hiccups. i realise then how quickly time has bypassed. the bright yellow rays of sunlight have turned into rich orange rays, the sun beginning its journey to the other side of the world while a coat of purple and pink gets repainted atop the layer of blue hanging above. 

_i’m running out of time._

i clear my throat and recollect myself. i must not show signs of being flustered.

“giving up so soon? we still have some time left for you to crack the code.” going back to pick up the book from my seat, i flip over the written pages. the pads of my fingers run across the inked letters, neat handwriting turning messy and scrawled whenever i felt that i wouldn’t finish in time. 

“i’ll run through the rest quickly and ask you again. if you can’t piece the puzzle together, then i’ll reveal the answer.”

“and then you’ll let me go?”

i look over at him from where i stand. he’s shivering from the cold and the cry he had. there’s just one last speck of hope in his eyes. he looks so pitiful. so prettily pitiful.

“sure. i’ll keep my promise.”

_january 20th, 2014:_

“channie?” the name leaves jeonghan’s lips like a ghost, just after i’ve mentioned the next victim’s name. his countenance pales, and it looks like he’s dreading everything that will come after.

_one of the light bulbs in the living room will go off. it’s the one attached to the ceiling fan. after getting a spare bulb and a ladder, chan will change it for a new one, despite it being nearly pitch black._

_midway through screwing on the new light bulb, he will hear some squeaks coming from above him, where the motor of the fan is. he’ll notice some movement on one of the blades from where he’s standing below. curious, lee chan goes up another step, just enough that he can peer at whatever’s on top of the fan blades._

_ the fan will start turning, at full speed. the mouse will be catapulted off the blades and lee chan’s reflexes will be too slow to avoid the rotating metal planks. the living room is painted red, and the first person that finds him will be his roommate, when he returns after an all-nighter at his group mate’s dorm, at 10 in the morning. _

_there was a serial killer going around targeting people in that building. he would’ve returned to the their apartment even if the two of them were out, since he was obsessive and oddly specific with his victims. someone had to take one for the team. that someone was lee chan._

“i assume you remember what happened to him, then?”

jeonghan just breathes heavily rather than answers. his eyes are wide, as if the image from that day has resurfaced, burned so deeply into his mind that even when he forces his own brain to forget it, mentions of it are enough for all the details to return, so jarring that it causes his pretty face to twist up, his entire body quivering in fear.

good. this means i can just whizz past the next few names.

“lee jihoon.”

“no.”

_february 22, 2014:_

_ lee jihoon, music lecturer. part-time barista at oh my cafe. _

“you’ve known this one for a while haven’t you? high school buddies?”

_with the school production coming up, jihoon will swap his late night shifts at the cafe in favour of the early morning ones. he’s the last to leave the hall every day, and he lives alone._

_one night, while he’s doing one last round of checking, 20 hours before the performance, one of the stage lights drop, hitting him squarely on the head. jihoon will pass out from a concussion, and die from blood loss. the entire row of stage lights follows suit, dropping one after another like dead flies and eventually crashing to catch fire. the entire stage will burn, more than half of the hall and building are gone by the time the firefighters arrive and put the flames out._

jeonghan wills himself to breathe evenly, his nostrils flaring, lips slightly parted to let the shallow breaths pass through. 

_i lose the heart to tell him that the seemingly innocent shiftmate of his would get him killed one day because of some shady business he was involved in years ago resurfacing to ‘take care’ of everyone that knew about them. and since jeonghan would be on shift during the ‘elimination period’, he would’ve been taken out for convenience’s sake._

pleased with his reaction, i take slow steps forward, circling around him as i tick each victim off the list.

“choi seungcheol.”

“s-stop.”

_march 30th, 2014:_

_choi seungcheol, mountain biker extraordinaire._

_ his bike goes haywire one day, the front wheel coming loose. he falls and rolls down the cliff, from 130 meters above ground. his body is found by a pack of wolves, all them fighting for their share of meat until there’s barely anything left of him where the remains of his bike lay. _

_he would’ve invited jeonghan out for a camping trip and gotten them eaten by bears._

“hong jisoo.”

“p-please i-”

_april 12th, 2014:_

_hong jisoo, boyfriend of seungcheol for 4 years, slowly goes insane after the loss of his other half._

_ unable to cope, he will walk himself onto the train rails late at night, humming his and seungcheol’s favourite songs to himself until smoke and a bright blinding light run through him. _

_a crazy admirer of his would’ve taken jeonghan’s life after mistaking the blonde as jisoo’s lover. i don’t know the name of the admirer nor did i bother finding it out._

“kwon soonyoung.”

“i’m begging you, p-please-”

_may 1st, 2014:_

_kwon soonyoung, avid party goer. scared of everything but still has some pride left. gets dared to go swimming with the sharks and takes it on._

_ the chain that attaches the cage to the boat breaks. the metal contraption falls to the bottom, with soonyoung in it. the sharks get to him before the rescue team does. _

_drunk driving accident. no one would make it out alive._

“lee seokmin.”

“enough!”

_ lee seokmin, best friend of kwon soonyoung who enters the cage with him, doesn’t make it out of the deep blue either. _

_he would’ve been the designated driver on the night of the accident._

i stop, only because that’s the last name i wrote on this book before i kidnapped jeonghan. 

speaking of the blonde, he’s cried so hard since the mention of lee chan that he’s all out of tears. his hollow cheeks are stained with dried clear tracks that glisten under the glow of the moonlight, and mucus drips down the tip of his nose at a constant tempo. he refuses to look at me, keeps his line of sight away from where i stand, breath heavy and dry, progressively regulating back to normal.

“exactly…. _who_ are you?”

i stop pacing and look at him. i’m back to standing in front of him again, from behind the empty chair. i’ve come full circle.

i suck in a breath and hold it, a little anxious at his reaction once i tell him.

“wonwoo. jeon wonwoo.”

i keep my voice even, expression neutral. i don’t move a single muscle. neither does jeonghan.

there’s nothing.

“who?” he says, so full of innocent curiosity and nothing else that it pains me. he genuinely doesn’t remember me. 

i see him blink rapidly, likely to bat any leftover tears away. he reaches a resolve after some contemplation, and he properly looks into my eyes when he speaks.

“i don’t know a jeon wonwoo or even any jeon that looks like you,” jeonghan says slowly in between sniffles as if he’s working up a theory, trying to form a connection between him and i. “are you a stalker? that must be it, isn’t it? cause i don’t know you at all.”

i try to keep my disappointment hidden. i try not to let the void in his eyes get to me, try not to be affected by the lack of recognition flickering in those auburn eyes. but he catches it anyway. he’s always seen through me this easily, it seems.

guilt is the first emotion that kicks in for jeonghan. his bottom lip gets caught in between his teeth and he looks up at me earnestly, as if i haven’t been holding him hostage for over 52 hours. 

“look, i’m sorry if… if i accidentally offended you in the past-” he pauses, licks his lips as he articulates his next sentence. 

“whatever it is, i’m sorry. maybe you were a seatmate i didn’t talk to much, or we shared lockers and i never paid enough attention to recognise your features.” he cringes at his own choice of words, but it’s too late for take-backs so he just moves on.

“i’m really sorry, and i mean it. you’re still a horrible person for doing this to me when i have no idea why, and i hope you rot in hell, but... i’m sorry i don’t remember you so… don’t make that face again.” 

i breathe out slowly, an eyebrow quirked inquisitively. his heart is still as gentle as can be. it might not be because he unconsciously knows that it’s me, but it’s comforting to know that he’s still such an angel. my pretty, adorable angel.

ironing out my features, i smile lopsidedly.

“don’t go developing stockholm syndrome now, sunshine. it won’t get you anywhere.” 

“stockholm- don’t flatter yourself, wonwoo. i’d rather die than fall in love with the likes of you.” jeonghan rolls his eyes and scowls at me vehemently, unflinching at the nickname i call him.

_pity._ he really doesn’t recall, huh?

“well, that’s a shame. you’re such a pretty little thing.”

i get down, right knee propped up whilst maintaining eye contact with jeonghan. catching his chin with my thumb and forefinger, i pull him forward so that his face is inches from mine, my slow, hot breaths mingling with his short, cold ones. 

“do you know _why_ i did all those?”

he yanks himself away, pushing every inch of his being as far away from me as possible, scorn clear in his eyes.

“you _planned_ all those? i thought you were just some psycho who stalked me and kept tabs on my friends’ deaths.” he scoffs at me, in complete disbelief.

“you’re more despicable than i thought.”

having nothing to reply with, i just smile. such a pretty angel he is.

“i did it because i wanted you to be in despair,” i answer, so quietly that my voice doesn’t bounce off the walls of the factory, even though almost every sound echoes and reverberates in this large, empty space. i slowly stand up, and jeonghan’s eyes follow me. 

“i like seeing you in pain.” _lie._ “because you look pretty.” _truth._

jeonghan doesn’t even size me up. he just turns away, as if he can’t bear the sight of me any longer.

“you’re absolute scum.” _truth._

“yes, yes i might be,” i hum in agreement. i move to stand behind him and he whips his head back, entire body squirming as panic sets in.

“wait, what are you doing-”

“-but i keep my promises, so i’m not complete trash.”

jeonghan goes still when he feels me tugging on the ropes. i pause after a few seconds and i hear him groan.

“i do have my conditions though.”

“wow, i’m so surprised,” jeonghan responds flatly, entirely humourless and monotonous, following up with a roll of his eyes.

“i will give you five minutes to escape,” i state calmly. my fingers move again, looking for the knot i had tied all those hours ago. it’s worn out from all the tugging jeonghan has done, and the humidity in the air just worsens its condition, makes it harder to undo.

“five minutes?! i don’t even know where i am!” jeonghan protests. 

i give up trying to untie his wrists, deciding that it’s better if i free his ankles first.

“just run straight out and you should see the city to your right. it’ll be directly ahead of you, though the road isn’t as easy to trek.” i crouch down and loosen the ropes around his feet, pausing to hold my forearms in front of my chest each time in defense, in case jeonghan lashes out and kicks me. he doesn’t.

“after five minutes, i’ll start chasing after you. so even if you don’t make it to the city, you’re free to go as long as i don’t catch you.” i go back to the ropes on his wrists now, taking my time since it doesn’t seem like rushing will do the rope any good.

jeonghan is silent, processing the information and taking it all in. 

“i… i don’t understand,” he confesses. “you kidnap me for three days, tell me that you basically killed everyone i love and care about and now you’re giving me a chance to escape?” he turns around in his seat as best as he can, eyes me from the corner of his eye.

“what is your end goal, what do you really want? why are you doing this?”

“nothing really. i just find you pretty.” the ropes come loose, and they drop to the floor in a pathetic thud. 

“run.”

  


**✽+†+✽――**

  


_you are my sunshine, my only sunshine_

 

his mind is blank. his brain isn’t working. he can’t think, doesn’t have to.

he just needs to run. all he needs to know is how to run.

 

_you make me happy when skies are grey_

 

he learns to ignore the pain; three days in captivity numbs your senses to a lot of things. the pounding of his soles on the gravel and the sorry excuse of a light source that only comes from the full moon and the occasional blinking, short-circuited street lamps don’t faze him in the slightest. the burning in his lungs sting, but he convinces himself that it’s nothing; it _has_ to be nothing until he reaches civilisation again.

he’s so trained on nothing but reaching the city and finding other signs of life that he keeps running even when a barrel falls from who knows where and just misses him by the skin of his teeth. he keeps running even though he’s drenched in whatever liquid was in the barrel. he keeps running and doesn’t stop to think about the oddly specific stench emanating from the liquid, one that is often associated with engines and fire.

 

_you’ll never know dear, how much i love you_

 

jeonghan doesn’t notice it at first. when he runs past a broken street lamp that has the lights flickering on and off as if a child was playing with the switch controls, he thinks nothing of it, cause it’s the same as all the other wonky street lamps he’s passed before this.

he doesn’t notice that this one still has sparks flying out of its badly cut wires, doesn’t notice that a spark lands on him - the tips of his now damp blonde locks, to be precise.

he doesn’t notice that the spark blossoms like a bud in spring. it grows, pollinating its seeds and populating the field with its bright red petals until it turns warm, so warm that it becomes hot, and then it’s burning.

when the carnelian and marigold flowers start consuming him, eating up enough of his hair that it reaches his scalp and he can feel and see what is actually happening, jeonghan can do nothing but scream and run, run through the ghost town hopelessly, yell for help even though he knows no one can hear him, and he has to choose to either stop in his tracks and await his death or run far enough that he finds something to help himself and die if he fails.

jeonghan settles on the latter and continues to let his legs carry him, continues this one track mind of his until he actually can’t even control that much anymore, until he’s covered in the burning red flowers, their glow so bright that they illuminate the entire abandoned city better than all the shitty half dead lamp posts combined. he doesn’t even have a voice or thought left to give when the flowers bloom at their prime, shine their brightest.

 

_please don’t take my sunshine away._

 

like all flowers, the ones in this flower patch wilt. it happens in succession moments later, all of them dying quietly with the wind and transfiguring into smoke, disappearing into the air and vanishing for good. nothing is left behind.

  


**✽+†+✽――**

  


_ may 20th, 2014:  _

_yoon jeonghan will start running across the old, deserted town, located 20 minutes away from the city._

_ when he crosses the 5th block, a barrel full of gasoline will fall from one of the buildings, shyly missing him. the contents, however, will be spilt on him entirely, covering him whole. the third lamp street he crosses after that will have sparks coming out of the cut wires and broken bulb, one of the sparks landing on the ends of his hair, causing it to catch fire. the fire will swallow him whole, inch by inch and strand by strand.  _

_ there will be nothing left of yoon jeonghan.  _

  


**✽+†+✽――**

  


no one can run away from the curse of the death note. it’s inevitable.

wonwoo sits on the edge rooftop of the building, long legs dangling over the edge, swaying along to the wind’s wishes since he’s nothing but paper skin and bones, making it all too easy for the autumn weather to manipulate.

here in the middle of nowhere, there aren’t any skyscrapers or street lights that dot the midnight scene. it’s a clear vast land with abandoned buildings scattered here and there, though most of what he can see up till the horizon is merely dried grass that reaches up to his ribs. 

when he sees a bright burst of light, appearing spontaneously in the dead of the night, he knows that it’s jeonghan, and he knows how it will end.

his eyes follow the flame, so hollow and devoid of anything that they act as a tar mirror, reflecting the only bright light source for kilometres to come. wonwoo only watches, lips sealed and entire being unmoving as the fire grows larger, until it engulfs jeonghan whole, until it fizzes and the male is no longer able to run, until the bright vermillion slowly dies out and leaves behind nothing but a trail of smoke and a pile of ashes where wonwoo can’t pinpoint.

that’s it. that’s the end.

“that was anticlimactic.” 

wonwoo is barely startled at this point, already too used to having a certain someone pop up at the most random of times. he just calmly angles around to spot hansol standing behind him, draped in black from head to toe with skin as white as the first snow - just as he always is. 

“when you said that this would be your last kill, i thought you’d make it more… flashy. like, fireworks, car explosion, trampled on by a herd of elephants… stuff like that.” 

wonwoo hums and turns back to the night scenery, his eyes already straying back to the spot where the last saw the fire.

“it’s pretty, isn’t it?” he says, “fire, i mean.”

hansol pulls one of his many faces of confusion. wonwoo doesn’t turn back to see.

“he’s so pretty too, jeonghan is. always has been, always will be.” wonwoo stands up then, carefully so that he doesn’t fall off from his own incompetence.

“i thought that it’d be fitting if i sent him off prettily.” 

hansol’s face goes flat, a sign that he’s given up on trying to understand whatever wonwoo’s spouting about, and he shrugs. 

“whatever you say, bro.”

wonwoo picks up the black notebook lying down on the floor beside him, doesn’t even spare it a glance before frisbeeing it to hansol, who catches it with expertised ease.

“you know who i’m appointing it to, yeah?”

“first of all: you actually don’t get to call the shots; i do. death god and all, remember?” and as if that title isn’t enough, the shorter male gesticulates to his entire appearance, the never ending sea of black clinging to him as well as the intense dark circles beneath his eyes that look startlingly similar to a case of very badly applied eyeliner with the largest black crayon in a kindergarten kid’s art supply set.

“yeah, but there’s also a rule that if i die, whoever is ‘borrowing’ the death note will be the new owner right?”

“i was going to say that as my second point, so thanks for stealing my thunder.”

wonwoo just smiles and walks over to ruffle hansol’s hair, fully exploiting the fact that the other is so casual and that he’s got some height over him as well.

frowning a little, hansol fixes his hair once wonwoo lets go, muttering under his breath, “you’re lucky you got me instead of any other shinigami. they would’ve killed you within a day.”

wonwoo just acknowledges it, because he is fully aware of how chill hansol really is for letting him have his way. there probably isn’t any other shinigami out there who would allow him that much freedom to execute this elaborate plan of his.

silence settles for a while. hansol is looking at wonwoo, who has his eyes fixed on his feet, kicking at some debris left on the old building.

“you sure you won’t regret this?” hansol sounds a little concerned, and if wonwoo doesn’t know any better, he’d think that hansol actually wants him around. 

“jeonghan’s gone now, there’s no reason for me to kill anyone anymore.” he looks up and cocks his head to the side. “what would i do with it anyways?”

“i don’t know, kill bad guys? stop crime? there are people who use the death note for that. i don’t really care what you do as long as it’s not something against the rules.”

“you think too highly of me, hansol. i don’t have a heart of gold like that.” wonwoo laughs a little, still with a smile as he says, “you know i’ve always only had one reason to live.”

hansol nods in understanding and doesn’t question any further. he lifts the death note instead and waves it a little. 

“any last minute kills before you go then? maybe that guy who pissed you off a week ago? or anyone who might go looking for jeonghan?”

“nah, i’ll be gone by then. there won’t be any leads if they send people to investigate anyways. all of the evidence will be destroyed.”

“alright, man.” hansol tucks the book into his robes for safekeeping, not wanting to drop it this time. it did bring him to wonwoo the last time, but still. he actually has someone he has to give it to this round.

“junhui, right? chinese dude living next door, number 520?”

“yep,” wonwoo confirms. “you can tell him if he asks, about me or jeonghan but if not then i hope he at least finds it useful.”

“i’ll convince him to use it if he doesn’t, don’t worry.” hansol gives wonwoo a final grin and a pat on his shoulder. “it was fun being around you. didn’t peg you as a romantic so it was pretty amusing shadowing you all this while. good luck, wonwoo.”

they exchange their last goodbyes and when hansol leaves, wonwoo is pulled back into the quietness of the night, the wind nipping at him, making him shiver.

guess it’s time to warm up.

he digs into the pocket of his hoodie and produces a small rectangular controller that only has one button on it, red and round at the centre. he clicks it without a pause.

the building shakes with the explosion that erupts from the inside, a crescendo of flames growing wild, swallowing up all the materials that feed and help it grow in size. in a daze, wonwoo’s eyes follow the tongue of the fire, stares at the bright orange radiance that licks the building up, centimetre at a time, conquering more space as the seconds pass, inching closer to where wonwoo stands.

the mixture of rubies, citrines and topaz is simply beautiful. the wind is no longer an issue, for it aids the flames in its conquest instead, nurses it so that it continues to expand and envelope the place. it’s halfway across the roof when wonwoo doesn’t feel the cold anymore, and he just basks in the heat that’s threatening to take him in head on. 

the pure destruction that fire brings in its elegance is astoundingly beautiful. it’s like watching a pretty dancer seduce their unsuspecting prey, spreading the sparkling material of their costume all around to lure in more victims, movements growing fiercer the more battles they win, more daring and aggressive, more possessive and obsessive, only stopping once everything is gone, once all those that enjoyed their performance have been reduced into the pile of ashes beneath them, useless and lifeless. it is only then that the dancer will take their bow and let the curtain fall, fizzle into smoke and drift away until their next performance.

in the end, even the all powerful fire will surrender when the conditions are no longer ideal to keep it going, keep it alive, keep it looking pretty in wonwoo’s eyes. 

wonwoo is aware that all pretty things have to go, and jeonghan is no exception. he’s chased him across enough lifetimes to know how it all ends, and they’re never pretty. it’s not the scarlet painted finale he despises, but the routes it takes to reach that point. 

he hates that the red their fate is painted in isn’t of the string of fate, but the crimson of a destiny never meant to be, as dictated by the cruel hands of everyone and everything against them, by the universe itself. 

if this isn’t the right lifetime for them either, then wonwoo chooses to be the painter that dips his brush with the deep maroon tone. he’d rather be the one to do it than anyone else. he’d rather paint jeonghan in the prettiest shade of red he can than leave that up to the hands of someone else. 

maybe one day, they will finally be able to be together. maybe one day, they would’ve died enough times, lived enough cruel lifetimes to reach the final happy ending that the world keeps denying them of. 

“see you soon, sunshine.”

maybe this time, wonwoo can paint jeonghan with the red of love; and not the red of his very own blood.

**Author's Note:**

> wheeeeeee so how was it? still think wonwoo's an insane heartless asshole?
> 
> my prompt was basically:  
> au - death note  
> victim - jeonghan  
> method of death - set hair on fire
> 
> DOESNT THAT SOUND LIKE A GREAT CRACK PROMPT? alas i aint funny so here we are
> 
> and yes i killed everyone off unnecessarily but I HAD TO TO MAKE IT SOUND LIKE WONWOO USED THE DEATH NOTE LOTS OF TIMES
> 
> this is kinda lame but 'e-kim-men' was supposed to be a bad pun of 'ikemen' which refers to 'metrosexuals' in japanese :D yeah i literally have 0 creativity 
> 
> leave a comment and give kudos if you'd like, and i'm sorry if i butchered the death note parts very very badly OTL
> 
> oh oh and fun fact!! the numbers in the title are meant to be read in Chinese! google it up to see why that was chosen as the title~
> 
> thank you for reading and have a nice day!!


End file.
